Helping Synek escape wouldn’t atone for everything she had ever done in the Wraiths’ name, but at least he would be one less.
“What’s got you in a mood?”
Iris blinked up at Bear, surprised to find him in the hallway off the side of the bar. Today was his day off—the one day of the week when he didn’t come in. And when he wasn’t around, Wren made herself more scarce than usual. She’d been counting on that.
“What are you doing here?”
His brow crept up as he came closer. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
“You on coke? Why are you so twitchy?”
Was she that obvious?
If he noticed it, others might as well, and she couldn’t afford anyone to suspect something was wrong—not with what was at stake.
But as three other Wraiths she didn’t recognize walked past them down toward the room where Synek was being held, she forgot all about that.
“What’s happening?” Iris asked.
Bear looked after them, his expression unreadable. “Johnny gave the order.”
Judging from the expression on his face, she could guess what that order was. Synek’s death.
Shit.
“That can’t happen,” Iris whispered without thinking.
He glanced down at her, asking, “Why not?”
“He was your friend, wasn’t he?” Iris asked. “Why aren’t you doing more to help him?”
She suddenly understood why they called him Bear when he merely took a step forward and it felt as if he was looming over her, annoyance pulsing out of him. “Why do you think I’m here?”
It seemed Bear had a plan of his own, and if he did, maybe she could get his help. “Do you know who he works for?”
“What does that matter? Far as I know, he’s freelance.”
“Have you ever heard of the Kingmaker?”
He had. It was written all over his face.
Now, she had his attention. “Bullshit.”
“He’s one of the Kingmaker’s mercenaries.” The words might have meant nothing to her when Winter had first shared them, but it had the right effect on Bear.
“Of course, he fucking is,” Bear grumbled in disbelief. “Shit knows what’ll happen if you fuck with him—now the Kingmaker is on this?” He scratched at his beard for a moment. “Rosalie ain’t gonna give a shit, and Johnny’s too old to recognize what a big ass mistake that would be if he let it happen.”
Iris said the first thing that came to her mind. “We can just let him go.”
“In a roomful of these motherfuckers? How do you think you can manage that?”
“They’re already coming for him,” she confessed.
Bear blinked twice at her. “Then we need to make sure he leaves here alive because where there’s one of his mercenaries, a dozen more are usually behind. Take this.”
He reached behind him and pulled out a .22 and a small key, pressing them both into her hand before she even agreed to take them.
“The key goes to the cuffs,” he explained.
“Why do you have them?”
He shrugged. “I have a similar set.”
She wasn’t gonna ask. “And the gun?”
“You might have to make a tough decision in there. It’s better to be prepared.”
Because there was a chance this would fail.
And if it did, she would die right along with Synek.
“I’ve been mourning this day for a long time, puppy,” Rosalie said with faux sadness, the twisted smile on her face a little too genuine despite her words.
She might have been mourning it, but Synek hadn’t thought much of what he expected this day to be. A spray of bullets, maybe, or defending Winter in some way.
That was how he pictured his last day on earth—not chained to a bloody wall, standing across from a woman he’d imagined killing in unsavory ways.
Worse, she’d beat him.
Even now, he could still remember her obsession with one-upping him, thinking that if she bested him in something, that would make him want her more. Instead, it had the opposite effect on them.
He’d grown tired of the games as she’d become more obsessed with power.
“You know what you have to say,” she told him, running her nails down his chest, the pain making his fingers twitch. “Just tell me what I want to hear, and I’ll make sure this stops.”
He stepped as close to her as the chains would allow. “Go fuck yourself.”
She shook her head in disappointment as if she truly believed he would change his mind. “We would have been good together, but you got soft.”
No, he just had never been as conscienceless as she had wanted to believe.
Their names, their memories, the faces—all of it had stuck with him. Even now, he didn’t have to concentrate to remember those whose lives he’d taken—the people he’d hurt.
Maybe this day would finally offer him some relief.
“And your father, yeah,” he said, loud enough for the others to hear, using the last bit of strength he had before he grew slack in the chains, “he can go fuck himself too, and that goes for the whole fucking lot of you.”
He was done fighting. There was nothing left to fight for.
He would die in this room.
As he should have long before now.
“Then you shouldn’t have betrayed the Wraiths.”
Synek’s gaze jerked to the right, spotting a face he hadn’t expected to see again. She’d been shaken the last time she snuck in here, but this time, something else was on her face—something he was too tired to decipher.
Some of the others mumbled in agreement, the sentiment rising in the room as the words echoed around them all.
You never betray the Wraiths.
You never betray the Wraiths.
You never betray the Wraiths!
Iris tried to covertly check her watch, but Synek saw the moment she did. Something wasn’t right.
“This isn’t your time,” Rosalie said between gritted teeth, and the cheer died down. “Step back.”
“I was the one who found him and brought him in. I deserve my moment to gloat.”
“You—”
“Rosalie, enough,” Johnny said from his vantage across the room. “He’s gonna die soon enough.”
Iris came closer, her throat working as she swallowed. “You killed them,” she said, “Digger and the others with a pencil.”
Synek … frowned. How the hell would she know that? The man’s name was easy enough, any one of the Wraiths could have told her, but no one knew about the pencil—he’d taken that along with him afterward.
“You gave up your life for someone you didn’t know.”
Her voice wasn’t filled with scorn the way Rosalie’s had been—she sounded the opposite.
“If you’re done,” Rosalie called, stepping forward.
“I’m sorry,” Iris said to him, her gaze steady before she turned and faced Rosalie. “I can’t let him die.”
“And why do you think I care?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Iris answered before pulling out a familiar pearl-plated gun with a grizzly paw wrought into the handle.
Bear.
“Move, or I’ll—”
Rosalie didn’t get a chance to finish before Iris aimed and shot, but instead of going in her chest, it clipped her arm.
Surprise filled him as Rosalie stumbled backward, her hand going up to cup the now bleeding wound on her shoulder. The bullet hadn’t penetrated, but flesh wounds still bled quite a bit.
What the hell was she doing?
“Kill her.”
The order was harsh and loud, but it didn’t matter in the next moment because the wall to their right blew inward. Cement rained, smoke billowed out in clouds, and standing within the carnage was a set of four masks Synek had never been happier to see.
He should have been used to the sight of them by now—the way they moved, taking on a
room full of men with guns without faltering a step. The Wild Bunch would be impressive if he didn’t despise them.
But at the moment, his hatred was forgotten.
Unlike the rest of the room who were all now focused on Tăcut and the others, Iris hadn’t flinched when the wall came down. She merely spun, a key suddenly in her hands as she quickly unbound the cuffs on his wrists.
“What—” He knew what he wanted to say, could even form the sentence in his muddled brain, but no matter how he thought it, the question still didn’t leave his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words making him seek her face through the cloud of dust.
He didn’t have a response before the last cuff came free and he collapsed onto the floor. More pain shot up his knees, but it didn’t matter. He was finally free.
Booted feet were suddenly in front of him helping to his feet—Tăcut, he was sure.
Iris was backing away, her brown eyes wide and … apologetic.
“Wait!”
He didn’t want her to disappear. He wasn’t finished with her yet, and he was afraid if she disappeared into the smoke, he wouldn’t ever see her again.
But he was too weak to stop her himself, and Tăcut wasn’t budging.
Screams sounded, bullets flew, but Synek was oblivious to it all except for her.
Iris was gone a moment later, and he was left staring after her.
Part II
The Wraiths
Chapter 11
Three weeks was all it took for Iris’s life to get back to its old normal.
The life she’d tried to lead before the Wraiths had called her back in … before Synek.
More than anything, she couldn’t get him off her mind. Whether she was asleep, dreaming memories of his torture and waking with a start, or when she was able to drift back off and she thought of that night at the Hall and how different things might have been if he hadn’t been a job and she didn’t have other priorities.
Unfortunately, thoughts of him weren’t limited to just when she was unconscious. She thought of him when she was awake and allowed her mind to wander for even a second. It was ridiculous, considering not just the way they’d met, but how it had ended.
When he was in that room, he’d made it abundantly clear that he would see her dead the minute he was able, and she doubted he would bend on that just because she’d ultimately helped him get away from the Wraiths.
Which now meant she had two targets on her back, neither of which she should have courted.
Her endgame counted on her being here, in New York, and even if it was more dangerous for her—even if she had to work three times as hard not to be found—she would do what she had to.
Iris had already taken enough risks with her plan already. She couldn’t chance losing the man she was after now.
That was why, the minute she’d left the Wraith compound behind, she went back to her hotel and grabbed the thumb drive with everything she needed on it and a backpack filled with necessities.
She had known, though she hadn’t any idea when, the day would come when she would need to run and do it quickly. That was the wisdom her mother had engrained in her during the few years she, Iris, and Marvin had attempted to be a real family.
She hadn’t known then that her mother would take her own advice and have a bag packed for when she could no longer handle being a mother and a wife.
Six months … she’d made it six months before she bailed.
But as annoyed as Iris had wanted to be with her mother for abandoning her again, she couldn’t.
She was who she was.
At the very least, she’d gotten six months.
And ultimately, her advice had come in handy when she needed it.
It hadn’t taken long for her to find a tiny little apartment in the Bronx, one that she was able to snag without offering any real paperwork so long as she paid the rent and a hefty deposit upfront.
Considering how much Rosalie had paid her to get to Synek, Iris didn’t wince at handing over the money for once. Besides, she would hopefully only need it for a few months at most. After that, she was planning on getting the hell out of New York without looking back.
She just had a few things she had to handle first …
For three weeks, Iris sat in her new apartment, printing out every shred of information she had and tacking it to the wall. From one end to the next, she connected articles to pictures to handwritten notes with yards of red string until she had a clear picture of everything as it was meant to be read.
To anyone else, it might have looked like the visual representation of a chaotic mind, but to her… she saw a story.
One born of corruption and greed.
One that led to the incarceration of a good man.
One that had surpassed the reach of a few street level soldiers. She’d followed this all the way to the top—all the way to the man who was ultimately responsible for what happened to her family.
Governor Michael Spader.
It had taken her years to connect it back to him. To realize that everything—from the bad shooting that ultimately took her father’s badge, to the bounty he was never meant to collect and his death because of it, and the actual people responsible for shooting the man her father was accused of killing—led back to him.
But once she had his name, Iris vowed never to forget it.
She vowed that soon, The New York Times would have his name printed on the front, and he would lose everything, just as her father had.
She didn’t know when, or even how, but she would ensure this happened.
Speaking of …
Rubbing the towel over her damp hair, Iris tapped the front of her phone to light up the screen and check the time. If she wasn’t careful, she would be late for her appointment.
Even before Rosalie had momentarily knocked her off track, Iris had finally started digging into the governor’s life, following the information she’d procured laboriously over the past two years to put together a schedule for him.
It hadn’t taken her long to figure out the man’s routine. From his work meetings, to his afternoon golf sessions, the occasional sports game, and late dinners with his life in their brownstone on the Upper West Side.
Every place he visited was on the up-and-up … every place except the French fine dining restaurant in Lower Manhattan where he went every other Tuesday. It was the sort of place that required a reservation, one notoriously hard to get, considering Iris had tried to get a table one of the days while the governor was inside.
But thankfully, Spader had made it easy on her, always picking one of the white wrought-iron tables on the balcony. The vines winding around the rails nearly obstructed him from view, but Iris had a special long-range camera that could see him just fine.
And the woman who wasn’t his wife always joined him.
She couldn’t be much older than Iris, maybe even a few years younger, but unlike Iris, her face split into a wide grin whenever Michael joined her at their table.
She was actually happy to be around him.
Poor, naïve girl.
It was to this restaurant that Iris was now going as she tugged on a pair of panties and a bra, then her clothes before searching the closet floor for her favorite booties.
Before, she had placed cameras around to track the governor when she couldn’t, but sometimes, the footage got corrupted or something blocked the view and any new details were lost. Now, though, she could see everything firsthand.
She could get closer or farther away as needed, and she had plenty of film with her.
His end was coming.
“Maybe you should take it easy, Syn. In case you forgot, you’re still recovering.”
No, Synek hadn’t forgotten, even if he wanted to. In the three weeks it had been since the Wraiths had him, he’d gotten well acquainted with the cuts and bruises that littered his body, and the starkness of his ribs after going without food for so long.
B
ut that was before, back when Winter and her merry band of fucking Romanians had brought him back to the loft and refused to let him leave.
The first week, he hadn’t been able to put up much of a fight, not in his state, but as he healed, he’d grown more ready to leave by the day. It wasn’t personal—the Wild Bunch made it a point to steer clear of him—but the thought of owing them for this didn’t sit well with him.
He’d expected them to maintain the attitudes they always had since the moment they’d been introduced, but instead, they watched him like he was a leashed wild animal seconds from attacking.
Though, of all of them, Winter’s Romanian didn’t look as mistrusting as he usually did. He looked rather more … understanding.
But that was something Synek didn’t want from him.
“I’m fine,” he said without looking up, searching for the pack of cigarettes he was sure he’d tossed on the bedside table the night before, though they were nowhere to be found.
Had they been back in London, Winter might have let him be—at least for longer than the five seconds it took before she spoke again. “You almost died, Syn. They tortured you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered, slapping his hand down on the nightstand as he straightened. “Where are my smokes?”
“Synek, I’m serious.”
He could count on one hand the number of times Winter had ever raised her voice at him, and usually, it was during one of his benders when he went so far off the deep end, she worried whether he had any intention of coming back.
He could count on less than two fingers the number of times she’d ever used his full name.
For the first time since she’d entered his borrowed room, he turned to look at her—actually look at her—and noted the dark shadows beneath her eyes. The way her usually carefully styled hair was in a lackluster bun.
She looked weary and nothing like herself.
He was responsible for that.
“Come now, little miss. I’m fine.” This time, he attempted to soften his tone as he pulled her to him, wanting to wipe that worry and fear off her face. “I’m still right here.”
“Yeah, but for how long? You’ve been running from the Wraiths since we met. I don’t think if they catch you a second time, they’ll be willing to torture you again. They’ll just kill you.”
Syn. (Den of Mercenaries Book 6) Page 12